His Perfect Submissive

by Alyssa Aaron

  He wanted her complete submission more than he had ever wanted anything in any relationship he'd ever been in, but she was different from other submissives he had trained and dominated.

  Others he trained had flourished under the harsh inflexibility of his dominance. They had come to him wanting strict control and he had given it. They had recognized their need to submit and had yielded to his rigid demands willfully.

  Kara, however, was not like anyone else he had known. With her he hadn't been inflexible and he hadn't issued demands. With her he couldn't.

  She had that demure air of innocence and was wounded in ways he was only beginning to understand. He knew instinctively that she would shrivel under the kind of harsh dominance he had practiced in the past. She was sweet. Innocent. She needed tenderness and coaxing more than she needed severity.

  He took a deep breath pushing away his impatience to deepen her submission. She was afraid, he knew that, understood it. He realized the need to be patient.

  He knew that for all effects and purposes she'd already given herself to him, her verbal acquiescence was just frosting on the cake. He'd had plenty of time as she'd drifted between sleep and bad dreams to remember how sweetly she had yielded to him before the panic attack.

  As he'd lain awake watching over her as she'd slept he'd wondered how she'd been able to relinquish herself to his sexual control when the only experiences she'd had of sex were bad. The knowledge that she had trusted him enough to let him touch her, when she'd been terrified his touch would bring on a panic attack still shocked him.

  She'd already given him a level of trust that had taken more experienced submissives months to master. He knew he should be satisfied with what she'd already given him, but remembering her sweetness and her innocence as she had kissed and licked his cock only made him hungry for more. He wanted to possess her, to own her, to have her knowingly submit to his ownership. In exchange he wanted to cherish her. Protect her. Love her.

  The thought that he was falling in love with her caught him off guard, setting him back like a strong kick to the chest. But as the initial shock wore off the knowledge that it was true settled into him.

  Sometime during the night as he'd watched over her, easing her from nightmares and coaxing her back to sleep he'd felt a sense of completeness invade him.

  The sense of being content in his masculinity and at peace with his dominance had deepened as dawn had arrived and the first rays of morning sunshine had squeezed through the blinds of the cabin's windows.

  Tranquility surrounding his dominance had always been elusive. But Kara's innocence brought out the best in him. It made him temper his dominance with tenderness and made him consider her feelings before he issued demands. He liked the protective feelings that filled him when he was with her and he liked the knowledge that she appreciated his care. She didn't take him for granted.

  Knowing the way she'd been brutalized and the way she still hurt from it made him cherish her submission all the more. That she had trusted him when she'd had no real reason to do so made him want to wrap her up and protect her from anything or anyone that could hurt her.

  He stroked her waist through her bulky sweater, his fingers tingling as they touched bare skin through the open weave.

  They strolled up the wide brick sidewalk past an antique shop with a closed sign in its window. They took their time, pausing to window shop.

  "There's a clothing shop up the street,” he said as the sweet scent of her hair combined with the brisk wind to tease his nostrils. “You did promise to replace your baggy sweaters. We could stop and look for some new ones while we're here."

  Panic shot through her. She recognized it as unreasonable, and yet the feeling persisted. “I guess we could,” she answered, her voice sounding hollow and unenthusiastic even to her own ears.

  "You're still worried about the new clothes?” Slade guessed.

  She nodded, her chest feeling as if someone had squeezed it in a vice. “I haven't worn anything but big sweaters and big scrubs since—"

  "Since you were raped,” Slade filled in for her.

  She nodded again, biting her bottom lip, drawing blood.

  "I understand that this is difficult for you,” he said turning her and lifting her chin so that she had no alternative but to meet his piercing gaze. She wanted to pull her chin away, to avoid the intensity of his eyes that felt as if they were digging into her very soul, unearthing things she'd buried deep. “You promised to stop hiding in the baggy clothes. Have you changed your mind?"

  His voice was gentle, but firm, as it stroked along her back making her nerves jump. She shook her head. She hadn't changed her mind but that didn't mean she in any way wanted new clothes. The whole idea of wearing anything that drew attention to her filled her with dread and a thick sense of foreboding.

  "You've trusted me on other things that were difficult for you at the time you did them. How did those things work out?"

  "They worked out okay, better than okay,” she admitted. “But this is—different.” Her voice felt tight as she squeezed it past the large lump in her throat.

  He was facing her, his fingers still holding her chin at that angle that compelled her to meet his gaze. “Tell me how it's different honey,” he said softly.

  She licked her lips nervously and tasted the blood that lingered where she'd bit her lip. She felt cold inside. Hollow.

  He stroked her arm through her sweater. His dark eyes were patient as she switched her weight from foot to foot and drew a deep breath. “The truth Kara, just spit it out, don't make it harder than it is, honey."

  "The other things you asked me to do—” she squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze. “All I had to do was trust you. Wearing clothes that leave me—” She swallowed hard. “—uncovered—is like trusting everyone else too. I—don't.” She twisted her hands together. “I don't trust anyone really, except you. I don't even know why I trust you."

  Regretting her words even before they were completely out of her mouth she tugged her face free of Slade's grip and prayed for the ground to swallow her. She didn't want to see pity in his eyes. Embarrassment swelled within her.

  They were married, had shared a bed. He'd been with her through a panic attack and he'd held her through the nightmares that had followed, but telling him outright that she trusted him, and admitting that she didn't understand why made her feel emotionally vulnerable.

  She raised her gaze slowly, letting it linger as it followed the line of buttons that ran up his chest. When at last she met his gaze she was surprised by the softness that filled his expression. “Thanks honey,” he said softly. “I'm honored that you trust me. There is no more important gift you could give me."

  His voice was soft and his gaze gentle as it rested on her. “About the clothes though, I'm not talking about buying things that would leave you bare to the world. Just normal clothes. Sweaters. Blouses. Slacks. Jeans. Dresses."

  Images of normal clothes swam in her mind. She imagined stylish jeans, sweaters that would accentuate her breasts and cleavage and soft flowing dresses that would breeze around her legs when she walked. She imagined pretty colors, and soft fabrics. She closed her eyes wishing she could imagine herself wearing clothes like that but even when she imagined the clothes she imagined them hanging on hangers. She didn't wear pretty clothes—not since—

  She wore black, white, and navy blue. Baggy jeans. Baggy sweaters. Scrubs. Big, baggy scrubs.

  "I feel n-naked in clothes like that.” Her voice was little more than a hoarse, pain-filled whisper carried along on the swift breeze that tossed her hair around her face.

  Slade closed his eyes as the knowledge hit him square in the face. He finally understood why the idea of wearing stylish clothes made her uncomfortable. She'd been hiding beneath the big sweaters, maybe blaming herself for the rape, afraid that if she showed a glimpse of her body she'd be inviting it again. And here he was taking away the shapeless clothes that made her feel safe.

&
nbsp; "Twenty years is a long time to hide out under baggy sweaters,” he sighed.

  She closed her eyes. “I know.” Her voice was small. Tired.

  He wanted her out of hiding but he understood why she wanted to stay safe beneath sagging folds of sweaters that hid her from view. He wanted her ugly baggy sweaters replaced but he wanted to accomplish it without hurting her.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “You do know that your clothes had nothing to do with what happened?"

  She didn't answer.

  He drew an exasperated breath. “What you were wearing that day didn't make a molehill's bit of difference to what happened. Men don't rape women or little girls because of what they're wearing although some of them use it as a way to justify their behavior."

  "I know.” She sighed, closing her eyes, shutting him out. “But I don't want men to look at me.” Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear but the fear in it cut through him like a knife and made him want to protect her.

  "I can understand why honey.” He lifted his hand and rested it against her cheek."

  She nuzzled into his palm. His heart surged delighting in the fact that she was drawing comfort from his touch. The miracle of her trust, that she trusted him, even in the face of him asking her to do something that was difficult and painful for her reached him at a deep level.

  "We need to do this more slowly."

  "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be...” Her voice was soft and filled with pain.

  "I know you're afraid honey. I knew you were afraid when we talked about it this morning but I didn't understand all the implications then."

  She was silent, her eyes fixed on the brick sidewalk at her feet.

  His mind was spinning, the analytical, problem solving wheels he used in business turning as he tried to figure out how to push Kara beyond her fears without causing her more emotional distress. God knows she'd had enough emotional distress in the past twenty-four hours.

  "You know I'm not going to hurt you or allow anyone else to hurt you?” he asked as she lifted her gaze.

  "Yes,” she answered softly.

  "Good,” he praised, his thumb stroking her cheek. “We're going to find some casual, comfortable things that fit you. For right now you'll just wear them when you're with me. If any other man even looks at you in a way that makes you uncomfortable I'll take him apart, okay?"

  "Will you really?” A soft warm smile filled her face.

  He shrugged. “Of course, if it makes you feel better.” He knew she wouldn't really want him to take some guy apart just for looking at her but he wanted her to know she was safe, that he'd protect her from lecherous advances.

  She smiled up at him. She was surprised at just how much better it made her feel to know he would take care of her, that he wouldn't let anyone bother her.

  "So this is workable for you then? Not too difficult or too scary?"

  "It's—in theory it's okay. I don't know how I'll feel when I'm actually—wearing—."

  "You'll be fine Kara. If you're not we'll talk about it and we'll work it out. You have my promise on that.” His confidence radiated outward and began to sink into her. “Just trust me, honey, none of this is meant to hurt you, remember?"

  He took her hand, engulfing it in his much larger one. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly as he led her toward the clothing store on the corner.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe she would be fine. She wondered if it was possible to leave the past with its darkness, death and pain behind. He kept asking her to trust him, dangling the unspoken promise that she would feel better if she submitted completely, trusted completely. But the idea of blind trust, of complete submission petrified her, even as a return to the feelings she'd had when she'd submitted to him that morning beckoned.

  She'd trusted him that morning when he'd promised to help her get beyond her fear of sex. He'd taken the lead, telling her with perfect candor and easy confidence what he wanted from her. Then with his own special mix of bossiness and tenderness he'd urged her astride him. She'd given him the implicit trust he'd asked for.

  She'd trusted him and he'd rewarded her with his understanding and knowledge of what she needed. He had taken the cruelty, degradation, and pain that she had always associated with sex and given her an experience that was in sharp contrast. She'd walked away with the knowledge that sex wasn't always excruciating, revolting, and degrading. In fact, he'd shown her that sometimes it could be downright beautiful.

  As she sauntered up the wide sidewalk beside him, Kara was disappointed in herself. Slade had been beyond patient and considerate. All he'd asked was if she was ready to deepen her submission. She'd responded by holding him at arms length and stubbornly refusing him an answer.

  She wasn't sure what would happen if she told him she was ready. He'd mentioned that he would make more demands, challenge her, punish her if her behavior warranted it.

  She wondered what kind of demands he'd make, feeling fearful that he'd ask her to go to counseling. If only she knew that counseling was off the table—

  She was still pondering whether she should agree to deepen her submission when Slade swung the heavy door of the clothing store open. The hinge whined as the door opened and scratched against the rough floor of the shop. Kara wondered what she was getting herself into as he propelled her into the store with its dim lighting and hard wood floors that had long since seen the last of the varnish that might have one day protected their surfaces. Now the store smelled of wax and new clothes.

  "Can I help you find something?” an old man with white hair, stooped shoulders and gold-rimmed glasses asked as he looked up at them from behind an old cash register where he was counting money into the till.

  "We're okay on our own. If you could point us to ladies wear,” Slade said.

  "Ladies wear is back that way,” the old man said gesturing to the far corner of the store as he dropped his gaze back to the money he was counting into the cash drawer.

  Kara's heart was beating triple time by the time they reached the ladies wear department. Her stomach churned. She didn't shop for clothes very often, and when she did she picked them up at the local Goodwill store. She bought big and bigger, white, black and navy blue. Never anything that attracted attention.

  She looked around feeling overwhelmed. She didn't know what to look at first as her eyes drifted from rack to rack of pretty clothes. Was there nothing in black or navy, she wondered in panic.

  Slade's eyes settled on Kara as she looked from rack to rack seeming frightened by the simple task of finding some sweaters to replace the ones that were too big. She certainly didn't shop like his sisters. On the very few occasions he'd been roped into shopping with them, the scene had reminded him of a school of sharks at feeding time. All five of his sisters attacked the racks, all of them grabbing things and holding them aloft for the approval or disapproval of the others as they laughed and joked.

  He sucked in a deep breath silently thanking God and his parents that he had been raised with sisters and knew how to shop. “What size do you wear Kara?” he asked as he skimmed through the rack in front of him.

  "Ummm—twenty,” Kara answered.

  Slade knew she didn't wear a twenty. His mom wore a twenty, and Kara was quite a bit smaller. He kept his mouth shut, knowing from experience how sensitive women were about the sizes sewn into their clothes. “These are nice,” he said holding a dusty rose and a teal green sweater up for her inspection.

  She lifted her eyes to study the garments. “They're pretty but they look too small for me. Do they have a larger size?"

  Slade bit his lip to keep himself quiet. The teal was a twenty and the rose was an eighteen. He'd lay odds the eighteen was too big, unless she intended to wear it hanging off her shoulders like she'd worn her other sweaters. The sixteen would probably fit.

  He didn't argue. He wanted to ease her into the idea of buying new clothes not get lost in a debate about what size she wore. He held a twenty aloft. “How about this one?” he asked
. “Want to try it on?” he urged.

  "I—um—yeah. I'll try it on."

  He handed her the sweater, fighting hard to keep his smile hidden. Kara was so far out of her element even in this backwoods shop that he had no idea how she would keep pace with his sisters who would undoubtedly be inviting her to join them on one of their shopping expeditions as soon as they got home from their honeymoon.

  "Let me see when you get it on,” Slade called after her as she wound her way toward the fitting room.

  "I will,” she answered softly. He liked her easy compliance, her obedience. He made a mental note to mention it and compliment her later.

  Kara emerged from the dressing room a few minutes later. The sweater hung on her as he'd expected it would. “Too big,” he said looking up from a rack near the fitting room door. “Want to try on one of the others?"

  "I like them big,” she sighed.

  "I don't,” he responded. His voice was clipped and brooked no argument. “Try this one,” he said handing her the sixteen.

  Obediently she disappeared into the dressing room with the sweater. She reappeared a few moments later wearing it. “That looks nice honey, what do you think of it?” he asked.

  "I like it.” Her answer was simple, but her soft gentle smile sent his heart into overdrive.

  He felt hopeful. Maybe one baby step at a time he could build her confidence and drag her beyond the fear that held her hostage. “You look nice."

  She did look nice, except for the baggy jeans that drooped at her waist and hung at the crotch. “Hang on a minute. Don't take that sweater off yet."

  Her glance was quizzical but he didn't respond to the questions in her expression as he weaved through the racks. “Here, try these with the sweater,” he said extending a pair of black jeans he'd pulled from a kiosk near the center of the ladies wear department

  "I didn't think men were into shopping,” she said taking the jeans.

  "Did you forget? I have five sisters? I had to learn how to shop just to keep up."